Everyone loved her. She got famous early with the original cast on late-night TV’s “Saturday Night Live.” Radner was the popular character Roseanne Roseannadanna for a while. Went on Broadway briefly. Got married to guitarist G.E. Smith for an even briefer run. Made some forgettable films. Happily married movie star Gene Wilder and semi-retired to the country. Died of cancer. She was young — only 42.

“Love, Gilda,” which is being shown this weekend by the Tallahassee Film Society, has many chances to expand on that story, but stops somewhere short. You know just about as much going in and you do coming out. Is “Love, Gilda” a good movie? Yes. Could it have been better. Oh, hell yeah.

There are plenty of full color movies of Radner’s childhood in Detroit. Her parents were wealthy enough to afford it. She became close to her governess, but was distant from her mom. Her dad died young, but that is glossed over.

Radner developed an eating disorder. Wait, a what? The documentary mentions these things and moves on.

After dropping out of the University of Michigan to follow an artist to Toronto, she found early success in the Canadian production of “Godspell,” which is hinted to have been racy backstage. She also met future stars Paul Shaffer and Martin Short, her boyfriend for a short while. She was very popular with opposite sex in the late ‘60s and early ‘70s. The documentary mentions this and moves on.

Fame came early to Radner. She was the first female star to rise from “The Not Ready for Prime Time Players” with characters like Lisa Loopner, Patti Smith-type and the hyperactive child. When the show broadcast live from Mardi Gras in New Orleans, Radner was mobbed. She took solace in castmate John Belushi and had a fling with Bill Murray. There is no mention of sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll. The documentary ... well, you know.

Even though filmmaker Lisa Dapalito has access to personal tapes, writings and musings by Radner herself, Radner never comes across as anything but likable. It doesn’t help the case that stars like Maya Rudolph, Amy Poehler and Bill Hader add little more than fawning over the material. We are not asking for smut, but just flesh out the edges of one of TV’s best comic minds. Just a peek more behind the curtain would have been better.

In an era of documentaries such as “Three Identical Strangers” (man, that went into some unexpectedly dark areas) and “Won’t You Be My Neighbor” (Mister Rogers was never a military sniper, and that’s just the start), it’s hard to view “Love, Gilda” as anything more than a glorified love letter.